It took nearly all my strength to clamber back onto my feet. I took a deep breath, then set my gaze in the direction of the town, or at least where I thought it was.

As soon as I started walking, my head throbbed with an ache that spread to my whole body. What was a full-body ache called—a way-too-tired-because-I’ve-been-attacked-by-just-about-everything-ache?

“Shut up, Riley,” I muttered to myself.

When I got crazy-tired, I tended to get crazy-hysterical too. I tried to think of what Angie or Lauren would say to soothe me. But, as my legs stumbled ahead, I came up with a big fat nothing. Usually, I was the one comforting them.

No, all I could think about was the same useless, repeating word as before: run, run, run.

I kept my gaze on my feet to ensure that I didn’t fall. Under my boots, the snowy ground swirled. A glance across the landscape revealed that the air all around me was swirling with snow.

I groaned. A snowstorm. Just what I needed right now. Every step I took was beginning to feel heavier than the last, while my eyes seemed to be blinking slower and slower…

I barely registered my body collapsing onto the ground. When I struggled to open my eyes, all I saw was white. They fluttered closed, and a warm, comforting blackness swallowed me.

* * *

PINGGGGG.

My eyes snapped open. My hands went to my ears as I wrenched around. Blinding fluorescent light. Flat gray stone walls.

Where was I?

I leapt up, the blood rushing from my head as I raced to the door—which was also made of stone. I yanked uselessly at the handle a few times, trying to get a grip on the momentary dizziness that came from standing up too quickly.

“Back away from the door,” a husky voice boomed from the ceiling.

I looked up, my eyes coming into focus. The entire ceiling seemed to be one big speaker, its black surface dotted with tiny holes. My gaze swept around the room, my heart pounding as I realized that I recognized this place. A Fed interrogation room.

There was a beep, and then the door slammed into me as it opened. I tumbled to the floor, and someone chuckled. With their boot, they pushed me away.

“You were told to back away from the door,” a cold voice said.

I craned my neck to see a gnarly, clawed hand dipping for me. I jerked away instinctively, but it managed to grab me.

“Don’t try to escape. It won’t work,” the masked lycan said.

He lifted me up and placed me on a stone chair as easily as if I were a feather, then lowered himself onto the chair across from me. Folding his hands on the table, he addressed me.

“So, human, tell me the truth. Tell me what you and your coldblood master have done.”

I gaped at him. It was hard to focus when I was face-to-face with the sight of my own distended, terrified face in the steel of his mask.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

His fist slammed on the stone table so hard it sent a crack snaking through the top. “Lies,” he hissed.

The door opened behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The new speaker was a lycan I recognized—he was the same head of interrogation with whom Navan and I had spoken days ago. Right now, however, he was baring his wolfish teeth in rage at the lycan sitting across from me.

“Commander Sylvan, sir, I apologize,” the masked lycan said. “You were in a meeting. I thought I could interrogate her beforehand. See what else we could get out of her.”

Sylvan strode forward, grabbing the stone chair he was sitting in and pulling it to the door. It scraped loudly on the floor as it moved.

“You thought wrong,” Sylvan growled, gesturing out the door.

The masked lycan rose and advanced so that he and Sylvan were nose-to-nose.

“Are you going to believe anything that human slave will say? After what we’ve found?”

Sylvan turned his back on the other lycan.

“What I do is no business of yours. Farl, you have a compromised interest in this case and are therefore not permitted to speak to the human. I am the head interrogator, and you will listen to me, or face the consequences.”

“Commander, with all due respect, I won’t just take this sitting down.”

“You’re right,” Sylvan snarled, storming forward and shoving Farl out the door. “You’ll take this standing up.”

He pressed a button on his suit, and the stone door slid closed. He turned to face me.

“I would apologize, but we haven’t yet established exactly what it is you’re guilty of.”

As he went to sit down, I sputtered, “I don’t know what… I just got—”

He dismissed me with a wave of his hairy hand. “I haven’t asked you a question yet.”

I shut my mouth, directing my glare to the door over his shoulder.

He clasped his fingers together, his long claws coming to rest on the backs of his hands. He directed a piercing look at me.

“Tell me how you came to be here.”

Now that I finally had the chance to tell my side of things, I paused. Doubts from before crept into my head. What if telling him the scope of the rebel coldblood camp made him focus on attacking it, instead of saving Navan?

“Today, human,” Sylvan barked.

One glance at his intelligent coral eyes made up my mind for me. Lying or leaving things out now was too dangerous to risk it. I’d finally gotten what I’d desperately wanted, back there in the snow—contact with the Fed.

So I told him everything. From flying in the Fed-equipped ship, to picking up the sneaky shifter, to discovering the coldblood camp. At the last, Sylvan’s deep-set eyes bugged out.

“You say there were how many of these rebel coldbloods and shifters?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “The shifter had said there were a few hundred shifters there when Navan asked him, but I don’t know if he was telling the truth. Combined with the coldbloods, to me it looked like a few thousand… maybe even more.”

He bowed his head, as if considering what I’d said, then shook it fiercely.

“No, no,” he said. “Impossible. A camp of that scope passing under our notice? Impossible! When we sent you on that mission, our intel indicated the base likely numbered from a few individuals to fifty, tops.”

“They had an invisibility shield,” I reminded him.

But now his thin lips were set in a firm line.

“Impossible, human. For something like that to slip by our notice, that would mean one of our own was betraying us, changing the data in certain reports. What you’re suggesting is a traitor inside our very own ranks.” His voice lowered. “It’s out of the question.”

“I know what I saw,” I replied in a steady voice, not lowering my gaze.

Sylvan paused, scratching at one of his ash-brown sideburns, and I could have sworn there was a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. “And what is your story for how you came to be a mile or so away from this camp, practically frozen to death?”

“How did you pick me up, anyway?” I countered, wanting answers to some of my own questions first.

I noticed suddenly that I was wearing a plain black robe. My broken suit had been taken from me, although I supposed it wasn’t all that surprising, given that the suit was theirs in the first place. Maybe that suit had helped them find me, somehow, even though it was dysfunctional. They’d said it was expensive, so I guessed it was possible they had installed some tracking tech inside it for security.

“Answer the question, human,” he said coolly.

“I tried to rescue my… friend, Navan. The coldblood who was sent with me on the mission,” I said. “The rebels captured him, and even with my invisibility suit, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save him.”

My voice hitched at the last part. The guilt over what had happened washed over me, making my gut churn. I’d gotten out. Navan hadn’t, in spite of what I’d promised him.

“And then?” Sylvan prodded.

“I was going to call for your help on the ship, but it was infested with shifters. They attacked me, and I barely escaped. I was exhausted with nowhere to go, so I tried to make it to the nearest village, but I collapsed on the way. The last thing I remember is losing consciousness, before waking up to… this.”

Sylvan’s vibrant eyes narrowed as I spoke, his mind seemingly scanning and dissecting every word I said.

“And that is all?” he said after a minute.

“That’s everything I know.”

“I see,” he said, rising from his chair.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked.

He paused, his bushy brows rising. “That remains to be seen.”

“Can I at least contact my friends?” In particular, I needed to speak to Bashrik. When he didn’t respond, I added, “It’s not like I can tell them where I am—I have no idea.”

At this, a smile played on his angular features. “True. You do not.”

He strode out without another word.

I watched the door close behind him with a sinking heart.

How long was I going to be kept in here? What if they didn’t believe me? And what would they do with the information I’d given them? Navan was still out there, and based on the vibe I’d gotten from Sylvan, the likelihood of a rescue mission seemed slim. Why would they care to rescue Navan, anyway? That would be a tricky, risky, and time-consuming endeavor. If they were going to act based on what I’d told them, I feared they’d just move in to attack the entire base, and who knew what would happen to Navan then.

I had to find another way to infiltrate the rebel base, but to do that, this time I desperately needed backup. Angie and Lauren’s cellphones wouldn’t be working out in the country, and I hadn’t the faintest clue how Bashrik’s comm device worked, but I did have one other way to contact them.

A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal a different lycan. This one was thinner and bonier than Sylvan, while his eyes were a lime green.

“I’ve been sent in with this,” his husky-yet-melodious voice said. He lifted a device that looked like a phone.

“Is that…”

He nodded solemnly. “An iPhone X.”

As I gaped at him, he swiped a gray curl off his face.

“What?” he asked drily.

“Just… I don’t know,” I said. “I figured that you lycans would have different technology, something more advanced.”

“This is the newest model available, I’ll have you know,” he said huffily. “Human technology will suffice for your needs. You do know how to use one of these, don’t you?”

“It’s fine,” I said, reaching for the sleek black phone. Once my fingers closed around it, however, he didn’t release his vice-like grip. His lime eyes found mine.

“I’m supposed to inform you that you’re to indicate that you are safe, but nothing more. Nothing about the Fed—no funny business. I will be here to ensure that.”

I was waiting for the “or else” part of his statement, but he seemed content that his warning would be enough.

“Okay,” I promised. “Nothing about the Fed.”

I didn’t mention that I was going to try to see if I could swing a visit with them… and ask permission from the Fed later. Something told me that admitting that in advance would not go over well.

He released the phone, but seconds later, his hand had grasped mine. He took a long sniff, and then his nose crinkled.

“Hm,” he said, releasing me.

“Uh, can I call now?” I asked.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Riley.”

He took another sniff, and then, before I could respond, said, “And they say you and your coldblood comrade discovered a base of thousands of coldbloods and shifters, who’ve been living in Siberia right under our noses?”

“Yes. Although your friend doesn’t seem to believe me.”

Another closed-eyed sniff.

“Interesting,” he muttered to himself, then directed a wry smile my way. “Not all of us lycans are ‘friends’, by the way. We are duty-bound to each other and to our cause, yes, but nothing more.” He stepped back and gestured at me with his arm. “Now you may call. You have ten minutes.”

It felt odd dialing the Churnleys’ landline number in such weird circumstances. I hoped I remembered the right digits, even though I’d memorized them before leaving home. Part of me was afraid that no one would pick up at all, especially since the old machine ran on solar power or something, and I’d never heard it ring once while I was there. What time was it back in Texas, anyway?

On the eighth ring, just as I’d started to lose hope, Mrs. Churnley’s cautious voice came through the line. “Hello?”

A strangled cry came out of my lips. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed human contact up until now.

“Who is this? Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” she snapped.

“Wait, Mrs. Churnley—it’s Riley!” I said. “Sorry. Could you put Angie or Lauren on the line?”

“Oh, Riley, dear! So nice to hear from you.” Mrs. Churnley’s tone warmed instantly. “I hope that new boyfriend of yours is treating you right.”

My chest ached at the thought of Navan being tortured and beaten, trapped inside the rebel camp. “He always puts me first,” I said, then, with a glance at my lycan companion, added hurriedly, “I really need to speak to my friends.”

“All right, dear. I think Angie’s upstairs.”

Each moment that passed felt like an eternity. My ten minutes were ticking away.

A gasp erupted on the other end of the line, then came a shaky voice: “Riley, is that really you?”

“Angie! Oh man, does it feel good to hear your voice!” I said, sighing with relief and leaning back in my chair. The lycan looked less than impressed and was tapping his finger on his wrist. I kept talking. “So much has happened, but I don’t have much time. I just wanted you to know that I’m okay, but… Navan’s not.”

A stony voice called out in the background. “What is she saying, Angie? Why didn’t they call with Navan’s comm?”

The pit in my stomach grew three sizes.

“Put my brother on the line,” Bashrik said, his voice now a dismal croak. I wasn’t even sure what he was doing hanging around at the Churnleys’—I’d expected one of my friends to have to rush and fetch him.

“Bashrik, I—” I said.

“He’s dead, isn’t he!” he burst out.

“No, I—”

“I told him not to go. I told him it was a suicide mission,” he continued. “I should’ve gone there myself to stop him!”

“BASHRIK, HE’S BEEN CAPTURED BY REBEL COLDBLOODS!” I cut in. “But he’s alive.” For now, I mentally added.

There was a long pause, in which my heart slowly broke. “Oh,” a small voice finally spoke from the other end of the line, and I could hardly recognize it as Bashrik’s. “Wh-What happened? H-How did you get out? How… How could you leave him?”

The last question broke me completely. “I-I tried my best to save him, Bashrik,” I said quietly, my chest aching, tears rising to my eyes, “but there were too many coldbloods and shifters. They’ve been keeping a hidden base.”

“What? There were coldbloods and shifters working together? H-How many?”

I put my elbows on the table, and my head in my hands. This was playing out just as horribly as my conversation with Commander Sylvan had.

I swallowed hard. “Bashrik, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But I don’t have time to go into those details now. Can you please just—”

“No,” he cut in, the strength suddenly returning to his voice, though it was still hoarse—and I could tell that his shock was giving way to panic. “I’m coming over there myself! And this time I won’t take no for an answer! Where are you?”

I breathed out and glanced at the lycan, who was shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.

“How can you not know? No matter. Wherever you are, I’m coming there! Both Ronad and I have healed decently enough. Ronad knows the ins and outs of coldblood technology—and our devices’ tracking capabilities are far superior to anything you can imagine on Earth.”

I cast a nervous glance to the lycan, whose teeth were bared.

“No, no need,” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. “I can meet you near where they captured Navan. The coldblood base is in remote Siberia, but we could meet at the nearest village.”

Silence.

“Bashrik?”

“I’m listening,” he said.

“If you’re really determined to save Navan, then all of us can meet there.”

I determinedly kept my gaze off the lycan, who, out of the corner of my eye, I could see was shaking his head back and forth in a furious “no”.

“Hm…” Bashrik said.

“The name of the village is Borscht,” I said quickly.

As I hung up, I could hear Bashrik’s voice go frantic. “I meant what I said about tracking—”

The lycan snatched the phone out of my hand. “That wasn’t—in any way, shape or form—what we discussed.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But you heard him—he was going to track the call anyway. The coldbloods do have really advanced technology.”

The lycan grimaced, then handed the phone back to me. “Whatever the case, you’ll have to call your friends back and tell them that unfortunately you made a mistake and you won’t be meeting them at all.”

I shook my head. “If I don’t meet them in Siberia, they’re going to track the call and find me anyway. Do you really want to gamble with those odds?”

The lycan’s face spread into a series of stoic lines. “Killing some interfering coldbloods won’t be the worst thing I’ve done.”

I snatched the phone back. “Oh yeah? What about innocent humans? Because my friends haven’t done anything to hurt anybody.”

His face remained unmoved. “Any human who works with a coldblood can’t be innocent,” he maintained with a decided shake of his head.

“Then why didn’t you rip the phone away and tell Bashrik to go to hell?”

The lycan didn’t respond, only frowned deeper.

“Because you know I’m right,” I said, realizing it as soon as I said it.

At that, his green eyes flashed, and he grabbed the phone again. “Regardless of what I know, the idea of you going to Siberia to meet your friends is, well, impossible,” he said. “You’re a prisoner under suspicion, not a tourist free to come and go. It’s out of the question.”

“Maybe the commander wouldn’t authorize it,” I agreed.

The lycan frowned. “What are you saying?”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure why I’d responded that way. I guessed I was just trying anything at this point to get a positive response out of the odd lycan, and my reverse psychology seemed to have given him pause.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But at least… please just think about it overnight. I’d be extremely grateful if you could convince your higher-ups to let me have this meeting with my friends.”

At this, he looked at me curiously. “All right,” he said finally, with a slow nod of his head. “I’ll take you to your room then.”

“I have a room?” I asked, surprised.

Rising, he chuckled. “We may be harsh here, and you may be our prisoner, but that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t provide you with the basic necessities of life.”

“Thank you,” I said uncertainly, standing.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m only following orders.” He cast a dark look at the iPhone before tucking it into a pocket. “For the most part.”

My room was pretty much as described: basic. It was somewhat cell-like, with a stone door, floor, and ceiling, stone walls, and a toilet and bed made out of—you guessed it—smooth gray stone.

“I will come to you tomorrow with my answer,” the lycan said, lingering at the door. “Until then, sleep well, human.”

It was only once he’d closed the door behind him that I realized I’d never found out his name.

The door was shut firmly, as expected, while the bed was just as uncomfortable as it looked. The sad scrap of a rag for a blanket seemed like a cruel joke. Nonetheless, I settled onto it, and, despite it being about as comfortable as a coffin, exhaustion claimed me, and my eyes dropped closed.